Approximately 8 Minutes
by theothercullen427
Summary: *SPOILERS FOR SEASON 2 FINALE* Mary's thoughts after she has been shot, but before she undergoes surgery. I suck at summaries. A lot better than it sounds. M/M. Read and review!


**Hi everyone! This is my first In Plain Sight fanfic, so I hope its okay. Its pretty much Mary's thoughts after she has been shot, in the 8 minutes before she undergoes surgery and other medical care. Anyways, I hope you like it, and make sure to review!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Its a very depressing fact.**

Some people believe that if someone's heart has stopped, so has their mind. According to these people, if your body is technically dead, even temporarily, so is your mind. No thoughts, no worries, to hopes, nothing. Then there are others who would say that your mind continues on eternally. Whether you're alive, dead, or in cardiac arrest, you can think. If you'd asked me an hour ago who I agreed with, I would have told you that it was the first group. I wouldn't have even had to think about it. But now, I know that the second group, the people who I would have once called crazy, is absolutely right.

See, right now I'm sitting in a white room, with a clear glass floor. There is nothing on the walls, and no furniture, but the room does not feel cold. It feels welcoming. Almost as if it new I would come, and had been waiting for me. I look down at my feet, and notice that it's not just anything beneath the glass floor. It's me. Or, my body, I suppose. I'm lying on cement, while Dershwitz is squatting right next to me, yelling something into the phone. I can't hear what he is saying, but I'm pretty sure he's calling for an ambulance. Good thing to. I look like crap. There is blood all over my new white shirt, and its coming faster and faster every second. Dershwitz just hung up the phone, so someone must be coming.

But what the hell is he doing now? Is he crying? Seriously? I'm not that great of a person, asshole! Yes, you should worry about me, and miss me if I die. But cry when I'm not even dead? Please, don't waste the energy. I truly don't deserve it. And if you're crying out of guilt, then you're a fucking idiot. It's not your fault. You aren't stupid, you should know that. But I guess not. I hope the ambulance gets here soon. I don't look too good. I look like I'm in pain. But here I can't feel it. I don't feel any pain. I kind of like that. Sure, it's weird being separated from my body, and there is a million people I'd like to be yelling at (not that it looks like I'd be doing much of that at the present time, even if I was in my body), so many people I would like to be telling not to worry (once again, it doesn't appear that I would be doing much of that), but I am happy here, in this pain-free little white box. I see Dershwitz pick up the phone again, and press speed-dial 7. Stan's number. That's good. Stan should know. Part of me wishes he didn't have to though. Because Stan knowing meant Marshall had to know. And knowing would cause Marshall pain. And I could not do that to him. Never. I remember how I felt when he was shot, and that wasn't even what would normally be considered a fatal wound. Mine would most likely be. And that would kill him. But I am not stupid, he would find out. Even if Stan didn't tell him. How awkward would that have been? I just never showed up to work and no one ever told him anything? Nothing until an obituary? God that would be worse.

Finally I see flashing lights across on the other end of the floor. Thank god for an ambulance. I see my body being lifted up onto a stretcher, and rolled into an ambulance. Now I see the inside of the ambulance, people left and right trying to do something about my bleeding abdomen. Idiots! It's a fucking gunshot wound. You can't help me here, I need surgery! This isn't some fucking gauze and ointment thing; I had a fucking bullet pass through my body! Jesus Christ people!

Suddenly I'm being lifted and rolled through the back hospital entrance. I've never been in this way. It's a lot less nice than the front. No flowers, no pictures, just white and sterile. I suppose you could say that about where I am now, but it just feels so different. Then out of the corner of my eye, I spy Marshal running toward me! Marshal! His face broke my heart into a million pieces. I saw the tears threatening to pour out of his eyes, and wanted to cry myself. Marshal, so strong, the one who never shed a tear when he was the one taking a bullet, was almost crying at the sight of me. I just wanted to reach out and hug him. He bent down and started telling me something, something that I could not hear.

"Louder, Marshal! God Dammit louder! Please…"

I need to hear him. To hear whatever he was telling me. Marshal had always come bearing interesting facts, important tips on life, and I had never listened. I had ignored him at times, just trying to escape the constant trivia. Why the hell did I do that? He is my best friend, just the way he is, annoying trivia and all.

"I'm sorry Marshal. I'm so sorry."

So I have to hear him now.

But I am being shoved through doors, to an area without him. Arms of strangers push him away. Forcing him to leave me. He promised he never would. But he is.

"MARSHAL!" I scream from my room, which once seemed like a happy place, but now feels like a prison.

I jump, trying to break the glass. I had to. I need to talk to Marshal, and it seems like I never will.

Tears fly from my eyes, as I scream.

I need to find him. I have to. There is so much left to tell him! So much to apologize for, so much left unsaid. I need to talk to him! I have to! At least to tell him…. To tell him….

To tell him I love him.

Holy crap.

I love Marshal.

This should be a bad thing. After all, I am fucking engaged to Raph. But somehow, in this crazy, whit box, it doesn't matter. All I can think is that I love Marshal. And that I always have. And I have to tell him. To find out if he feels the same way.

But somehow, I know he does.

I look down and see myself in a hospital bead now, with paddles on my chest. Shit, that looks painful. Painful enough to distract me from the one thing that matters, even if only for a second.

I feel a tug at my feet. They begin to slip through the glass, as if it has begun to melt. Slowly, I realized I was falling back to real life. Or death, as the case could easily be.

And somehow, I felt sure that, like a dream, I would never remember any of this.

Just before my head slips down beneath glass, I call out one last time.

"If anyone is listening, you have to tell Marshal. You have to tell him that I love him. He has to know."

But somehow, I know he already does.

**So, what did you think? Just press that button and let me know! **


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